


It Means "Moonlight"

by dietgay



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Don't forget that, HS!AU (again!), It's kind of sad, M/M, and claude debussy, and there's internalized homophobia, except this one is about how marv and whizzer get together, it's 3 am and i need sleep, oh and underage alcohol consumption yeet, really awkward shit, there's also gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 13:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12842136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dietgay/pseuds/dietgay
Summary: Marvin admits he's gay, Whizzer admits he's scared, and they're both kind of out of it when they do.





	It Means "Moonlight"

**Author's Note:**

> I WROTE ANOTHER THING
> 
> it's about 3 am on a monday morning and i have to be up for school in two hours so don't expect anything life-changing but i like it soooooo
> 
> also it's the first time i've tried to write gay shit since i've come out to myself so yeet?
> 
> anyways enjoy and leave feedback!! -Mags

Once his final bell rings, Marvin doesn’t hesitate to shove all of his books into his bookbag and shuffle out the door. He’s never in a hurry to leave--after all, this is his last year, and he should “cherish every moment.” But he has to meet up with Whizzer. 

Initially, Marvin was concerned about Whizzer skipping his seventh period to help him “run errands,” but Whizzer assured him he wouldn’t be missed. “It’s yearbook,” he said. “We don’t do anything but walk around and take pictures until February. Mr. Norris doesn’t even call roll half the time, you know that.”

That’s how Marvin got here, shoving past underclassmen and slow walkers en route to the library, the middle ground where he and Whizzer agreed to meet. Marvin suggested they meet at his car, but that’s just _too far_ for Whizzer to walk by himself. He runs two miles every morning, and a few hundred yards is “too far” for him. The thought of it makes Marvin laugh to himself. If Whizzer was only a good liar, he’d be a better lawyer than Marvin would.

When Marvin opens the library, no one’s there except for the librarian with the eye problems and her mousy, bushy-haired student aide who he thinks is in his fourth period. He should know this by now. It’s November. The aide--what’s her name? Lauren?--smiles and waves timidly at Marvin. He waves back out of courtesy and ducks into the fantasy aisle.

Marvin’s never been much of a _reader._ His tenth grade English teacher, Mrs. Lowell, used to call him a freak of nature. He always aced comprehension tests and finished all of his essays days in advance, but time and time again he defended his aversion to leisure reading. Marvin reads for knowledge and nothing else. He never picks up a book to simply immerse himself in a false world. The world he lives in now has everything he needs to survive: success, notoriety, wealth, routine. No one can know for sure what all exists between the covers of a book. 

That’s what was wrong, he’s sure, with Trina when they were together. Before theatre season came around, whenever she wasn’t clinging to Marvin’s arm, her head was bowed over some new book that she’d bought or borrowed from Cordelia. She always wanted something she couldn’t have, somewhere she couldn’t go, someone she couldn’t turn herself into. Trina wanted nothing to do with the world around her, just juvenile distractions conjured in her head. 

This year, he’s noticed that Trina has started to put the stories down, abandon them for reality. She’s more honest with herself and the people around her. But Marvin can see her crumbling, piece by piece. If she’s too honest, her entire world can and _will_ come crashing down around her. To say he doesn’t care about her would be a lie, but he doesn’t care enough about Trina to speak to her about it. 

After their breakup in June, which hit Marvin far harder and for different reasons than he cared to admit, they drifted apart. He’s not even sure he would consider Trina a friend anymore. However, as often as they can tolerate each other, they complain about their own untangled, selfish, boring lives over complimentary gas station coffees. Their vents almost always contain the same people, Whizzer and Mendel, and who hates who changes with every meeting. Most of the time, it’s Trina and Marvin despising each other, but once in a blue moon, the two share a mutual animosity towards Whizzer’s spite or Mendel’s flippancy. 

Marvin plucks a book from the shelf and examines the cover. An upset princess is stuck in a tower guarded by a dragon, and the knight in shining armor pines for her from the saddle of his horse. Is this the type of world Trina projected herself in? Did she imagine herself as a damsel in distress, lying in wait for an awestruck prince to slay the dragon and rescue her? Did she know that the knight was most likely using her to fuck his way to the crown?

It almost amazes Marvin how she once believed that _he_ was that enraptured hero on his way to save her. That belief can’t hold true anymore, he knows. The day she stopped believing in him is the day she called to tell him she wouldn’t be visiting him in Boston. To tell him she wouldn’t be associated with him anymore.

“How’s it going, Romeo?” Then there’s Whizzer, who greets Marvin with a slap on the ass. When he started doing it back in September, Marvin almost gave him a black eye, but at this point, it’s tradition. Marvin doesn’t react to it as violently as he used to, and Whizzer forgets he does it. Neither of them notice anything out of place about the gesture until Lauren the aide clears her throat. Her eyes are wide and her cheeks are red and Marvin deduces her parents must be Baptist.

In his moment of embarrassment, Marvin stumbles, “Oh, I’m not gay, don’t worry!”

“I am,” Whizzer says with a shrug. He grabs Marvin’s ass once more, and Marvin reacts this time by punching him in the arm. Lauren the aide’s gaze shifts to the floor as she shuffles away to the librarian’s desk. Once he’s sure she’s gone, he adds “not gay, my _ass_ ” barely above a whisper.

“What the fuck was that?” Marvin hisses back, returning the book about the princess and the knight to its place on the shelf. 

“She’s homophobic, Marv,” Whizzer says slightly louder, perhaps hoping she’ll hear. 

“She’s _sheltered,_ ” Marvin spits. “Blame her parents. Don’t embarrass me in front of her.”

“Sheltered, homophobic. Synonyms. She’s gotta learn somewhere.”

The pair leave the library as quickly and unnoticed as possible. The hallways are completely empty, so Marvin definitely missed the tardy bell. _Here we go_ , he thought, looking up at Whizzer, who was busy spewing lava over Lauren the aide and how she needs to be exposed to the real world. _Time for a prison break._

“Hey, what took you so long?” Marvin asked, partly out of curiosity and partly to shut Whizzer up. “Isn’t Mrs. Friedman right down the hallway?”

“I was busy giving Lonnie Knox a BJ in the bathroom.” One quick look from Whizzer to Marvin shows that the joke didn’t land like he’d planned. Marvin’s eyebrows are drawn together, and he’s chewing on the inside of his cheek, a telltale sign he was uncomfortable. He clears his throat and looks down at his feet. “Come on, Marv, don’t be an ass.”

Marvin shoves open the exit with his shoulder, welcoming the cool buzz in his cheeks like an old friend. Sure, it’s only November, but it’s cold as shit. Siri told him this morning that there’s a slight chance of snow tomorrow. What does she know?

“So,” Whizzer begins, grabbing a hold of Marvin’s arm, trying to get closer to him for some warmth. Maybe if he was wearing a jacket like Marvin told him to this morning, he wouldn’t be so goddamn cold. “Where are we going?”

Ah, shit. They haven’t gotten that far in their plan, have they? They managed the “sneak out of school” and now the “get to Marvin’s car” part, but what’s the endgame? 

Marvin lets out a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat and shrugs. That might be, he realizes, what was wrong with Trina and him. They were way too focused on the endgame. Marriage fresh out of high school, a kid or two, maybe a parakeet or something. Their “dreams” manifested in a modest family life with a modest single income. Whizzer’s the kind of guy who doesn’t even know what an endgame is. He just plays and plays until the game bores him, and then he moves on.

Marvin situates himself in the driver’s seat and starts the ignition. For the first time since April, he turns on the heater. He feels Whizzer’s eyes on him, much hotter than the air blowing from the dash. He leans uncomfortably close to Marvin’s ear, making him swallow.

“Okay, so how do you feel about”--Whizzer’s voice drops lower, sexier, and Marvin shudders inside himself for even thinking of that word--”going to my place…”

“Sounds like a plan!” Marvin responds much faster than necessary and leaves the parking lot of Lincoln High School in a squeal of rubber with his very gay _friend_. 

\---

“I can’t believe you’ve never watched a Monty Python movie before, you uncultured piece of shit,” Whizzer says, picking up the seven empty bottles of the cheap shit from the floor. His dad wouldn’t be home for another four days, he insists, but they might as well clean out the alcohol supply. At the rate Marvin, Mommy’s boy, is going, they’ll finish up with that real quick. Whizzer’s had three, and Marvin’s on his fifth--he waves a half-empty bottle in his hand.

“Help, I’m being oppressed,” Marvin quotes, his words slurring a little from all the alcohol in his blood. “Come and see the violence inherent in the system!” Upon throwing the empty bottles away, Whizzer stops and stares at Marvin in awe. His cheeks are tinted a soft pink, and a boozy grin spreads across his face. Whizzer wonders how in hell he fell in love with _that_ , the scruffy little dickwad with “a reputation to uphold.” Marvin takes a look at Whizzer and bites his bottom lip--Whizzer claims later that this motion of his was entirely on purpose, but Marvin states to this day that it was accidental. 

_Maybe I’m too drunk for wise decisions,_ Whizzer reasons, though he figures right after that if he actually _was_ too drunk, he wouldn’t have come to that conclusion in the first place.

“Hey, you! Yeah, you lightweight little shit.” Marvin laughs at the sentiment. It might be the nicest thing Whizzer’s ever called him. “You’re cut off,” he says, snatching the bottle from his hand and placing it on the island in the small kitchen.

“Give it back! I’ll bite your legs off!” _Jesus Christ._

“Your mom is going to be very upset when she figures out her son’s been drinking at the gay boy’s house.” He says this with a small laugh, but half of him is serious about it. Marvin’s parents are two of the biggest names in town and known for being no-nonsense: Polly is the AP US Government teacher at Lincoln, and Abraham is a personal injury attorney with his face slapped on every other billboard in the state. To Whizzer’s knowledge, they’re very homophobic. Otherwise, Marvin would be out by now. He’s genuinely scared of the Lake parents, and he knows that if _this_ ended up, well, happening, they wouldn’t approve at all. 

Upon his drink being taken away, Marvin pouts and clutches at Whizzer’s shirtsleeve. “I’m sorry.” His eyes dart down to the floor, and in a soft voice, he adds, “She doesn’t have to know. I can stay here tonight?” He phrases it like a question, a pleading in his eyes that Whizzer can’t ignore. For once in his life, Marvin looks… vulnerable. 

“Yes, you can stay.”

In an instant Marvin’s arms are clasped together behind Whizzer’s back, squeezing the oxygen out of his lungs. Before Whizzer can register the warm feeling in his stomach, Marvin snaps back, a look of pure horror on his face. “Oh,” he says, immediately trying to steel himself, wiping his hands on his pants as if he’s caught a disease. 

“It’s okay, Marvin. It’s not gay unless you make it gay.” Marvin laughs through his nose, a strange and undeniably attractive trait Whizzer has picked up on, and throws his arms around Whizzer for one more moment. He throws his head into Whizzer’s neck, breathing shakily. 

“Thank you, friend. No homo, right?”

“Right,” he says, though it sends an almost unnoticeable pang through his chest. A quick look at the clock shows that it’s almost time for dinner. “Do you need to take a shower?”

“Probably, yeah.” He follows Whizzer to his room to search for clothes. “Will they fit me?”

“What’s that supposed to mean, dipshit?” Whizzer asks, digging through his drawers for something invaluable. “Calling me fat or something?” Another thing he says as a joke, but means half-seriously. If there’s anything on this world he’s good at, it’s laughing off insecurities. 

“Nope! Calling you tall. You are a fucking giant. _Real_ nice looking, though. No homo, just helping keep your ego in check.”

“Even when you’re shitfaced, you’re still a dick.” Whizzer finds an old baseball championship t-shirt that he never wears and a pair of pajama pants. They’re unattractive, but they’re pleasantly warm. With that, Marvin toddles off to the bathroom like a child, leaving Whizzer on his bed with his thoughts. 

He hates Marvin, really and truly. He has no redeemable qualities, at least by Trina’s standard. She said he was abusive and apathetic. Now, good God, she has the literal definition of “the nice guy” hanging on her arm, and she’s happier than ever. Whizzer, well, he always ends up stuck with the bad ones. Marvin is fucking intolerable, but there’s something about him--potential, maybe, or some sort of promise--that makes him perfectly right. There’s room for a redemption arc in the depths of Marvin’s soul, he believes, and in the depths of mine. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t help but think that they were made to help each other be better people. 

He’s bound to hurt himself again. He’s already gotten the locks changed once.

To pass the time, Whizzer plugs in the cheap electric keyboard he bought last week at a garage sale. He plucks a few keys, throws around a minor chord or two to match his mood, but nothing quite goes anywhere. For so long, he’s tried to write something, but he can’t get a few measures in without throwing something at a wall and unplugging for the night. Tonight doesn’t seem to be any different. Instead, he remembers the first piece he ever learned: “Clair de Lune,” or at least the first minute or so. 

“That means ‘moonlight,’” he mutters to himself, involuntarily laughing through his nose. 

When he told Trina that he was going to teach himself to play the piano last year, she told him he _had_ to learn this piece. “It helps me calm down when everything gets to be a little much,” she said to him, implicating Marvin as the source of all her stress. 

As he plays, he cranks the volume of the keyboard up as loud as it will go--the patter of the shower in the next room over distracts him from the piece. His fingers move by memory, and soon Whizzer doesn’t even hear what he’s playing anymore. The amount of times Debussy has drilled his way into Whizzer’s brain is astronomically large. 

“Claude Debussy. ‘Clair de Lune.’ Written in D-flat major, nine-eight time. A French Impressionist piece based off a poem by Paul Verlaine.” Marvin’s head peeks into the bedroom, his hair sopping wet and dripping on the hardwood. Whizzer raises an eyebrow at his friend’s statement. “Where are the towels?”

“Oh my God.” Whizzer jumps up and rushes to the bathroom, Marvin covering himself with the loaned baseball championship shirt. He grabs a towel from under the sink and hands it to Marvin. If he wasn’t shitfaced, Whizzer would’ve laughed at Marvin for being too dumb to look for a towel, but as before, he was vulnerable. “Fucking idiot.” Okay, maybe not that vulnerable. For someone so shitfaced, he’s well-versed in French classical music; he can take a joke.

“Okay, can you go now so I can put your fucking clothes on?”

\---

Marvin and Whizzer sit on the living room floor with a pizza and two bottles of water between them. Marvin’s brain is still a bit foggy, but he is doing his best to come to his senses. He knows one thing: Whizzer is being friendly for once. For once, there’s very little animosity between them. For once, they’re not going at each other’s throats. For once, he’s not entirely scared of that hungry pit at the bottom of his stomach that shows up every time their eyes meet. 

It’s nice, he decides, in the way that he and Trina should’ve been. 

The two spend a few minutes in near silence as the TV plays a shitty sitcom behind them. They eat the pizza that Whizzer got delivered, staring at each other in utter amazement at the wave of calm that’s come over them both. God, how much Marvin wants every minute of every day to be as blissful as this. 

_Which one of us is the hero, and which one of us is the damsel in distress?_ he asks himself in a moment of desperation. His heart pounds through his chest, but he keeps his cool with a bite of pepperoni pizza.

“You alright?” Whizzer asks him, tilting his head. “Do you need anything?”

_That’s the thing. I don’t need anything with you. You bought me dinner, gave me a safe place to stay tonight, let me take a hot shower and steal your clothes. They’re too big, that’s for sure, but they’re warm. All I need now is… this._

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Marvin pauses for a moment, tilting his head similarly to Whizzer’s, a matched smile on both of their faces. “You’re really fucking good at piano.”

Whizzer laughs at Marvin’s outburst. “You’re really fucking good at… knowing about piano, I don’t know. How the hell do you know so much about that piece?”

“Quiz bowl. I’m contractually obligated to learn everything about classical music and literature.”

“Don’t you hate reading?”

“Yeah, I know! It’s ridiculous, but I love it. What time is it?”

“Ten thirty. What was your excuse for crashing at Chateau Homo?”

“Went over to a friend’s to study. Knew it would be a long time. Told her I was just going to chill at the friend’s place until tomorrow. She said she was cool, but I’m going to be in deep shit when I go home.”

“Oh, well.” 

Whizzer’s eyes flit to Marvin’s mouth for half a second, feeding that hungry pit in his stomach is growing, about to overwhelm his senses. He feels as if he’s going to explode in the best way possible, seeing the way Whizzer’s damp, freshly-showered hair naturally falls when unaccompanied by hairspray and expensive products. He notices light freckles resting on his cheeks that he’s certain were never there before. 

“Hey, Romeo,” Whizzer says with a light breath after a brief hush. “You got something right there.” He flicks his thumb over the corner of his mouth. Marvin wipes at the spot, but Whizzer looks at him like he’s a fucking moron. “No, right _there,_ dipshit.” Once again, Whizzer demonstrates, Marvin tries to wipe it off, and the former acts like he’s being ridiculous. 

“Look, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Oh my God, just let me get it.” 

Whizzer moves the pizza box and situates himself to where their knees are touching, both of them sitting cross-legged on the floor. Marvin’s breath hitches--he’s sure his face has never been this close to Whizzer’s before. He wants to close the gap, but that means defeat. It means that he will have to admit to himself what he’s been avoiding all along: Marvin Lake is gay, and he really likes Whizzer Brown. 

“Alright, I got it.” Whizzer leans back for a moment to make sure that, yes, he did help Marvin with his little predicament. Neither one of them decides to move from his current position. Their eyes are caught in this iron bond, like their souls will leave them if they dare look away from one another. If it wasn’t for the laugh track on the TV behind them, you’d think they were almost frozen in time. 

Marvin wants to move his lips, wants to say something--anything--to Whizzer. He wants to explain everything, but it’s like he’s stuck. He’s the damn damsel in distress. 

“Hey, Marv?” Whizzer asks, close enough that Marvin can feel his breath on his nose. His voice drops lower, sexier, and Marvin shudders inside himself in anxiety. “Do you, uh, need any help?” 

Whizzer Brown, in all of his confident glory, Marvin realizes, is just as nervous as he is. The two share an awkward perfect moment in time, a simultaneous smile, and Marvin dares to admit defeat. 

It’s not a fairytale kiss like in those stories Trina used to read, but Marvin feels more alive than he has in his entire life. Whizzer sheds Marvin’s shirt like it’s a lead weight because, at least in Marvin’s mind, it is. He no longer feels _jealous_ of Whizzer for being free, to live without fear of disappointment. He doesn’t have to live inside himself anymore. It’s truly liberating. 

The next morning, Whizzer wakes Marvin from the deepest, shortest sleep of his life. “Marv,” he yawns, “we have to get ready for school. Get up.” 

Marvin opens his eyes to a yellow wall and turns to see himself ass-level with Whizzer, who is already fixing his hair in the mirror. His head pounds in frustration. “What the fuck happened last night?” he asks, the memory coming back to him in a whirlwind.

“You got wasted and confessed your love for me.”

“That is not what happened.”

“Fine, you got wasted and realized you were gay. And you’re _about_ to confess your love for me.” In the reflection of the mirror, Whizzer shoots Marvin a flashy smile. Marvin smiles back, trying his best to ignore the pain in his head.

“I wouldn’t call it love just yet.”

"Thank God."

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr to follow this au:  
> @falsettolandhigh (where this bullshit started)  
> @ask-falsettolandhigh (the q&a blog that's a little more... consistent)


End file.
